Once upon a time, my older brother looked just like John Denver.
Then there was the time that I looked like a Civil War aficionado.
Once upon a time, my older brother looked just like John Denver.
Then there was the time that I looked like a Civil War aficionado.
Why can't a short story collection be a poetry showcase, especially if the poetry is by one of the characters? It is a highly effective way of differentiating viewpoints, visually, tonally, linguistically. Indeed, there are the same, if not more, limitations in poetry (i.e. take-me-to-your-narrator) as in a short story, but the sheer break from narrative to construct is powerful enough to force the reader to consider the packaging of the information that he or she just or is just about to receive. I'm sure it has been done, and much more effectively, affectively and stylishly than I shall. But my puppy is going to run hard and finish this race. And by puppy, I obviously mean literary vehicle. Not an actual canine. Just to clear that up.
The wife got a call today to set up an interview for next Thursday at 10 o'clock Central Time.
Yes.
Yes.
As Langston Hughes asked, What happens to a dream deferred?
Where does unrequited love end and bitterness begin? Sometimes, showing respect for the past means putting away the past and concentrating on the future. What's done is done, let the dead care for the dead.
This is the theme that I want to explore in my stories. Not just a dreary set of homilies about death and grief, but lancing the boils of anger and bitterness and disappointment. Holding my reader tightly to the corpses of dreams and hopes and "golden days," learning with the reader that dead things stink and that stagnant pools are only fit for draining.
Because grace is about hope, and hope looks to the future. Hope springs (as they say), hope is motion, and death is a cold, cold thing.
Where does unrequited love end and bitterness begin? Sometimes, showing respect for the past means putting away the past and concentrating on the future. What's done is done, let the dead care for the dead.
This is the theme that I want to explore in my stories. Not just a dreary set of homilies about death and grief, but lancing the boils of anger and bitterness and disappointment. Holding my reader tightly to the corpses of dreams and hopes and "golden days," learning with the reader that dead things stink and that stagnant pools are only fit for draining.
Because grace is about hope, and hope looks to the future. Hope springs (as they say), hope is motion, and death is a cold, cold thing.
Hopefully this will whet the nib: Tartt First FictionAward
I suppose this means that I only have 3 months to gel my vision into a cohesive fighting force of Hemingway-styled vignettes set in a take off of Faulkner's Yoknapatawpha County. And maybe I could include some pathos and bathos.
Or perhaps, as Lewis said: Even in literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it.
Yet knockoffs are so much more easily produced, and if they flop, you can always say that it was a critique of the failings of the original, only amplified ad absurdum.
Currently listening to:
My wife's dulcet sleep-breathing, the cat attacking knick knacks, the irreversible onward treading of middle-aged man Time (in the autumn of his crotchetiness)
I suppose this means that I only have 3 months to gel my vision into a cohesive fighting force of Hemingway-styled vignettes set in a take off of Faulkner's Yoknapatawpha County. And maybe I could include some pathos and bathos.
Or perhaps, as Lewis said: Even in literature and art, no man who bothers about originality will ever be original: whereas if you simply try to tell the truth (without caring twopence how often it has been told before) you will, nine times out of ten, become original without ever having noticed it.
Yet knockoffs are so much more easily produced, and if they flop, you can always say that it was a critique of the failings of the original, only amplified ad absurdum.
Currently listening to:
My wife's dulcet sleep-breathing, the cat attacking knick knacks, the irreversible onward treading of middle-aged man Time (in the autumn of his crotchetiness)
Meredith and I got a free movie rental. Yay! I picked out a movie that had a decent cover and looked like fun. The Bank Job starring Jason Stratham. After 15 minutes of previews, 10 of which were Stratham related, we watched 30 minutes of the movie and turned it off. Just an unfortunate and gratuitous amount of cursing and naked flesh.
The plot looked interesting and the cars were fantastic (Alfa Romeos, Aston Martins, &c.), but not worth the nudity. I'm not asking for prudery, just a little tact and taste.
Currently listening to:
Disappointment.
The plot looked interesting and the cars were fantastic (Alfa Romeos, Aston Martins, &c.), but not worth the nudity. I'm not asking for prudery, just a little tact and taste.
Currently listening to:
Disappointment.
I have this vision for a short story or a movie or a series of short stories or a video game. And in my head, it's HUGE. But when I try and get it all down on paper or in a sketch, I get about half a page or an outline of a building or end up searching for pictures of cars or motorcycles on google images. This whole concentration gag really takes some getting used to, especially when you skimmed through most of high school and a lot of college. You end up with a lot of really cool half/mal-formed conceptions about what it takes to achieve a goal.
And I am already away from the story in my head. You see how it goes. The internet is a fantastic mechanism whereby to research obscure and pointless facts. Also, incredibly addicting.
Currently listening to:
Heaven and Hell - The Who, Whiskey in the Jar - Thin Lizzy, The Wind Cries Mary - Jimi Hendrix
And I am already away from the story in my head. You see how it goes. The internet is a fantastic mechanism whereby to research obscure and pointless facts. Also, incredibly addicting.
Currently listening to:
Heaven and Hell - The Who, Whiskey in the Jar - Thin Lizzy, The Wind Cries Mary - Jimi Hendrix
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